Page 72 of A Treacherous Treasure

He could think of her as a sister, needing comfort after a very trying and upsetting event.

He couldn’t fool himself that easily. His feelings for Rebecca were nothing like his feelings for his sister. But he also didn’t want to make her uncomfortable or cause her servants to question her reputation.

But she didn’t seem uncomfortable at all. Her arms were quite tight around him, and she made no move to pull away from him.

They stood there, not moving, and he felt as if he could stay there forever. Who needed sleep? This . . . this was what he needed.

Priscilla had been his fiancée first before allowing Arthur Heywood to seduce her. She’d chosen Arthur over him. But he’d never met Rebecca before she married Arthur—and Arthur must have seen her as a virtuous woman to have married her. She’d also said herself that she’d been unhappy married to Arthur. No doubt he had hurt her, had broken her heart over and over again.

What if she chose Thomas now? Why should he care that she had married Arthur first? It was inconsequential, besides the fact that it showed she’d trusted Arthur, believed in him, and he’d betrayed her.

She began to gently pull away, slowly, lifting her head.

The top of her head was at the level of his eyes, and he took in how soft her hair looked. He wasn’t used to seeing it long and flowing over her shoulders and down her back, but it was beautiful, and if possible, made her even more lovely, the way the soft waves touched her temples.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, then sucked in a breath. He hadn’t meant to say that. “Forgive me.”

She leaned her head back. Her eyes were half closed, and they were staring at his mouth. She wanted him to kiss her.

Was he insane for thinking so? Her lips were parted and he could hear her breaths coming in quick gasps. Her hand moved to his shoulder.

He leaned down. Would she kiss him if he moved closer? One small kiss couldn’t hurt anything, and he could see she wanted to.

She stood on her toes and touched her lips to his. He waited to see if she would pull away. She didn’t. He pulled her closer and she was suddenly kissing him like he was a soldier who had just returned from war.

His blood was pumping so hard it made a rushing sound in his ears.

Rebecca suddenly pulled away. He loosened his hold and she stepped away from him. Then he heard it—footsteps on the stairs.

She was looking into his eyes, but as the footsteps pounded up to the top of the stairs, a male voice said, “Mrs. Heywood? I’m looking for Mr. Westbrook.”

Thomas inhaled, trying to calm his wayward breathing, and hurried into the hallway.

“Logan, you’re here. Good man.” He’d completely forgotten about sending for his groom. He had to act calm and not suspicious—not like he had just been kissing the widowed mistress of Heywood House.

“I need you to go to Derby to fetch the Lord Lieutenant, Rawson. Tell him our constable is dead here at Heywood House and I need him right away.” He gave him the direction to the Lord Lieutenant’s house, then said, “Be quick but safe.”

The Justice of the Peace was supposed to decide whether to call in the coroner, but since their JP was obviously corrupt, he would let Rawson decide whether to send for Pursglove.

Fogg was dead, and there was nothing left to do except take his leave of the beautiful woman with whom he’d just shared a most amazing kiss.

He went back to her doorway and found her standing just inside. She’d taken off his coat and was wearing a thin, gauzy thing that covered her nightgown from her chin to her feet.

“Thank you for the use of your coat,” she said, a soft smile on her lips as she handed him the garment.

“You’re welcome.” What should he say? Perhaps he should ask her to marry him on the spot. But she had initiated the kiss. He had to think about this. Besides, if he were to decide he wanted to marry her, he’d want a more romantic place and time for the proposal, not right after a man had been murdered in her house.

“And thank you for teaching me how to shoot. You may have saved my life.”

“I am at your service.” He threw his coat over his arm, then took her hand and lifted it to his lips.

Her gaze never left his as he kissed her hand, her lips parted and her chest rapidly rising and falling.

How he wanted to kiss her lips again. It took everything in him not to pull her into his arms and do just that.

“I don’t like the thought of leaving you here alone, not when we do not know who killed Fogg. Do you have a deadbolt on your door?”

“Yes.”